There is a short story mentioned in a biographical book about the founding fathers of the United States, that was repeated at the beginning of a documentary film by director Ken Burns. The story goes that a visitor to the town café struck up a conversation with an unassuming traveler dressed in simple clothes, a traveler he had not known before. The two men entered into extensive conversations, and the conversation moved from one topic to another. The traveler was knowledgeable about various topics. He talked about mechanics and engineering sciences, and he expanded his knowledge a lot. Then the conversation moved to the law, and the visitor to the café thought that the traveler was a lawman and a lawyer. When the conversation turned to theology, he became convinced that the traveler was a religious man. How many hours had passed while they were talking about these topics despite not knowing each other well? Strangers, not friends, it seemed as if their need for communication and dialogue was great. If a visitor asked this traveler about architecture, surveying, agriculture, agricultural matters, weather, and political and philosophical theories, he would say that this man must be a knowledgeable figure. The visitor asked the café owner, admiring the traveler’s thought: Who is this exceptional man? The innkeeper replied: Oh, I thought you knew the owner of these lands! It’s Thomas Jefferson.
What are the chances that one day you will go to a coffee shop, without planning to meet anyone, and find yourself talking to someone like Thomas Jefferson? Rather, what is the chance that you would go to a café to find another person, similar to you in your hobbies, ideas, and personality, and talk to him?
Some of them go to a café to read, to browse a book, they may not find the environment suitable for practicing their hobby at home, or the general atmosphere in the café encourages them to read, especially with some cafés turning into more like a library: a library full of books and people, a person takes his place and reads what he wants. Others go to the café to write. Writing an article, a novel, a university research paper, or even a diary. The multiplicity of images of visitors and the ideas and forms they carry is an opportunity to build an artistic work for people we have never met or known before, like the telephone directory that Umberto Eco prefers to take with him on a remote island: many names, and behind each name is a whole world.
Many people go to a café to taste coffee and, inevitably, tea as well. Modern machines that make these drinks have certain standards so that the flavor is not lost. The samovar no longer exists. Imagine if the samovar, that ancient metal vessel whose name has been mentioned so often in Russian literature, reappeared? If it returns, its beloved Russian samovar, Dostoyevsky, will return with it. What a surprise that the greatest scenes of Dostoyevsky’s literary works were in cafes and bars.
A group of people go to the café to study, as well as to work, but the most important characteristic of the café, that place that has many forms, places, and classifications, and without which it cannot be a place where one can sit, is the human presence, and the most important characteristic of this presence is communication with others, with friends and strangers. You communicate and talk to them about anything, about literature, art, and cinema, about politics and science, about life and loss, about natural human moments of failures and successes, about sport matches and their players, and about yourself. In Dostoyevsky’s novel Crime and Punishment, the hero of the novel was isolated and lonely. He had no means of human communication with others. He felt an urge that attracted him to his fellow people, as if a revolution had arisen in his being that made him deny his loneliness and rush to establish relationships with others. It sometimes happens, Dostoyevsky says, “We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken.”
Perhaps the most famous painting depicting cafes and restaurants in modern cities is “Nighthawks” by Edward Hopper. But whoever looks at this painting does not find a correspondence between the café as a lively place capable of creating dialogue, participation, and communication between different human spectrums, and the modern city full of people. Loneliness and alienation form the basis of this painting, matter of fact, loneliness, isolation, and alienation formed the main theme of most of Hopper’s other artistic works. Hopper preferred to take a realistic line for himself, moving away from the abstraction that swept European art. There are no human crowds or predictable stories in his works. Any viewer of his works will find characters alone and isolated from others. The experience of life in New York and its streets inspired the author to monitor the nature of life and gatherings in restaurants, cafes, and homes. He may not have intended to paint a painting based on loneliness, but the truth is that loneliness in this big world has a clearer and more severe impact than the loneliness that afflicts a person while he is alone in the rooms of his home.
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(Nighthawks – Edward Hopper 1942.)
What is loneliness? What does it mean to be alone? Is loneliness a source of creativity, represented in art and literature, or is it a maze of madness? Is it a pathological condition like depression, sadness, and anxiety, or is it a logical consequence and possible end to states of anxiety, sadness, and depression?
Novelist and short story writer John Cheever described loneliness as a kind of madness, which turns a man into an abandoned object, a piece of stone, a bent body sitting on the edge of a hotel bed, with groans flowing from him abundantly like the autumn wind. He says something to the meaning of: when we read Hemingway, we do not remember the color of the sky in his works as much as we remember the taste of absolute loneliness in it. The writer who seeks to be serious will have a dangerous task. On the other hand, Virginia Woolf mentions in her diaries that if only she could capture that feeling, she would, “the feeling of the singing of the real world, as one is driven by loneliness and silence from the habitable world.”
In her book The Lonely City, the writer Olivia Laing discussed the topics of loneliness and its nature. Is it a temporary, passing state that is normal for every individual to go through, or is it more like an independent pathological condition that leaves its effects and scars on the person psychologically and physically? What is the nature and form of this loneliness, whether it is in a state of absolute isolation, or a state of loneliness in a world known for speed and in a city full of people. Olivia addressed this topic through her visit to New York City, and the situation in which she found herself stuck, being alone in the middle of a noisy, non-stop city, and the situation in which a person finds himself stuck in desolate loneliness or violent alienation, the main reason for which is not the absence of people, dialogue, and meeting with others, you may even have many friends, yet loneliness hits you with full force. Olivia addressed the topic through art and literature, through figures whose works were linked to themes of loneliness. The advantage of this book is that it does not provide a summary of loneliness as much as it presents many experiences through artists and personalities whose works have been described as representing loneliness, or where the characters of the artwork are lonely. Several instances in literature and cinema come to my mind, which I address one by one without in-depth analysis, as a contribution to Olivia’s work, which speaks about unity through art and literature.
In the middle of the nineteenth century, Henry David Thoreau left carrying his ax to the American Walden Forest to discover a new life in the woods. After losing all hope of finding work in his beloved city, he carried his ax to that forest, to live alone, making anything that would help him survive there. He went, believing that in that forest he would encounter the fundamental truths of life, and learn from them. He would go and dig in that forest as far as he could. He wanted to live his entire life, and not go to his grave regretting that he had not lived life as it was meant to be lived, like the sons of Sparta, defeating everything that is not life.
Even if his greatest goal is to absorb the nectar of life as he describes it, yet he aims to eliminate those tools that controlled him, or as he describes them by saying: “We become tools of our tools.” But how did he spend those years of his life in the forest? I mean, how could he stand living alone without having contact with others? A person can live in isolation from others in order to achieve his dreams. How many brilliant ideas have their owner imprisoned, working on them day and night to bring them to light? But to live alone, isolated, cutting off all means of communication with others, this may seem unnatural.
The nearest human settlement to Henry Thoreau’s cabin was miles away, bordered by mountains in all directions. He did not become alone because his soul did not seek to be alone, but rather preferred to share and communicate with all the beings extending around the Walden Forest, from the trees and animals and the succession of the seasons, and the great voice that announced the end of winter and the beginning of spring, to the humans passing through the hut. Even if he is alone in his hut, he sings. He sings to that falling rain, to the dew drops in the morning, to the sounds of birds flying, to the winds that storm the trees to play rare music – without human intervention – that purifies the soul and makes that experience a priceless spiritual state.
Thoreau was commenting on the concepts of isolation and loneliness philosophically, by measuring this isolation and loneliness at the level of the universe, as this entire Earth is just a point in space. The life of the body, full of details and movement, keeps the mind in a state of movement and preoccupation, as if it is connected to everyone, even to those who accuse it of loneliness. As for loneliness, as an unnatural state of existence, it appears more severely and more influential in cities and human gatherings, rather, loneliness when living with people is more severe than loneliness in one’s own room.
In the 1960s, Austrian novelist Marlen Haushofer published her major and most famous work, The Wall. A woman goes with her relatives to a forest to spend the vacation period in a hut. When they arrive at the hut, the family goes to the village to get some equipment, except for the heroine of the novel, who prefers to stay in the hut. What happens is that the family does not return, and that the woman cannot go to the village to reunite with her family. Rather, she becomes surrounded by an invisible walled area in the forest that cannot be crossed. The author imagines that a nuclear explosion has occurred, that a catastrophic event has shaken the Earth, and that humans have waged a war of annihilation as a result of storing these nuclear weapons during the Cold War. That virgin forest, which becomes surrounded by an invisible wall, decides to surround the creatures that God created, protecting them from loss.
The novel became famous at the beginning of the new millennium after it was adapted into a German film starring the famous German actress, Martina Gedeck. It was said about the novel, The Wall, that it is a contemporary work that supports women and shows them to be of equal importance and strength comparable to the strength of men. The novel was even described as dystopian literature. The novel is great, and the greatness of this work of art does not stem from the illogical matter represented by a separating wall surrounding a virgin forest with a lone woman in it, but rather because its events are all a victory for life, a continuous life that is not stopped by the collapse of civilization and the loss of communication. It was as if civilization had been lost. This woman re-created a living world based on working in that forest, making tools with her hands, hunting for food, merging, communicating, and walking in that green forest that extends throughout. In the woman’s company was a cat, a cow, a dog, and other animals, as if this were the nucleus of the process of establishing man and his civilization from scratch, man in his first form, reconciled and integrated with place and nature as God created it, gentle and beautiful. But how can this woman continue her life – going on like this – without knowing the truth about what happened, and not finding any human being with whom she can communicate? She had a human presence and communication with her children, her family, the people of her town, and the world. Here is a case of David Thoreau, the forest in which the woman lives is like the Walden Forest, and the wind and rain that last for days, the sky that has become black and the arrival of spring and the succession of seasons, but the difference is that Thoreau went to the forest seeking life, not seeking isolation or loneliness, while the woman in the novel, The Wall, went to the forest to spend time with her family in the forest, and once she lost her family, she lost her whole life, and she became lonely, which was enough to drive her crazy. What is painful – and frustrating – is not the process of resistance and trying to continue life in this forest, but rather the time that has become visible, and can be seen walking with deadly calm, intending to destroy everything in front of it. There is no other way to resist that visible time except by writing, writing on newspapers, magazines, and walls. Writing is not aimed at overcoming time, as that is unreasonable. Rather, it is to prove that there is a spirit that continues to resist, and a living voice that speaks, fighting deadly loneliness. She writes while in her endless loneliness for others, hoping that the wall will collapse and one day a passerby will see that there is a living soul who has been resisting, writing, and living her life.
British actor Anthony Hopkins continues to present everything that is beautiful and genius on the cinematic screen. Many articles were published about his latest role in the film The Father, explaining and describing the condition suffered by the father, who is reaching the end of his life, and trying to analyze this artistically and philosophically. I watched this film – among many cinematic works – knowing what would appear in front of me, what would be the psychological state of a father who had become an old man, with memories, events, and people mixed up in his mind, so he did not know who he was talking to or the reality of his existence. I knew everything Hopkins portrayed in his film, but… how can the devastating effects of this situation be reduced, in which a person is on the verge of collapse, losing his soul, and cutting off communication with loved ones and others? What is the true pain that befalls the old man when he no longer knows himself? The father is apparently suffering from Alzheimer’s, and regardless of that, the father’s condition is greater than the disease, because the disease does not only affect him, but it also affects his relatives and loved ones. Anxiety and collapse are not related to the father either, but rather extend to those around him. No illness can describe the effect that the last signs of a good soul have. Every minute of the movie I was watching my father. With my hands I hold his face, I bring my head close to his so that he can recognize the features of my face, I tell him that I am his son and that he is my father, he looks at me with his eyes as if I am no one, I do not exist, but, in a minute, or a second that may be golden and rare, he calls me by my name in a loud voice as if I were little, he finally recognizes me, he remembers me and smiles, but that second goes away and does not come back for days later. When the father was lost in the film, he started calling for his mother, just as my father called for his mother who passed forty years ago. They are old, they have become children, there is no doubt about that, but what is certain is that they only address those they know and trust completely, since that umbilical cord has bound them, a mother never betrays or abandons her children, she knows the children as she knows herself. What was killing the father was that intense siege of devastating loneliness. He has a loving daughter, and the nurses are close by, but there is no one who can get along with them or reveal the contents of his soul with absolute confidence. The other party should not ask for anything in return. He has a voice, which is evidence based on his living presence, and the ability to communicate with others. The closeness of others to a person is not a sign of the end of loneliness. You may be among a huge crowd, conversing with them, or giving a speech in front of a general gathering, and when that role that has been assigned to you ends – with or without your will – you discover your loneliness, in the midst of the crowd.
Anthony Hopkins – The Father.
Twenty years ago, Anthony Hopkins played the butler, Stevens, in The Remains of the Day, adapted from Nobel Prize-winning novelist Kazuo Ishiguro’s masterpiece. One of Hopkins’ characters whose loneliness reached the most. He gave his life for his work, and in the service of his master, the Lord. Stevens was a witness to the events of history taking place in the palace, listening to senior politicians from the Allies and the Axis powers, negotiations and policies that would have led to peace in Europe, instead of the war that had not begun. When he performs his work in the palace and does not pay attention to his personal life or thinks about anything else except his master and the palace, is the job worth this high price of sacrificing a part of oneself? He spoke a lot, ordered, followed, and carried out. He lost his father right in front of him, yet this matter did not concern him. It was just a passing sadness. His dignity as a servant required him to abandon himself and become alone. The main feature of these remains, The Remains of the Day, is in the novelist’s ability to broadcast subconscious contents outside without the speaker himself being aware of it: the story of passion for work and putting it before everything else, about the funeral of the father who dies on the top floor of the house, while his son continues to arrange things and make sure the party downstairs is set. Putting work before love and infatuation. Providing sincerity in work over feelings and confining them and canceling the idea of marrying the woman he loves in order to devote himself to the details of the day, of which in the end nothing remains except the remnants.
After many years, and after wasting that service under his great master, the servant makes a special trip to meet a friend who worked with him. He was going for work, but the heroine of the film was one of the characters who brought out the subconscious in Stevens, that he was a human being who deserved to establish relationships with others and have a life, not to become alone. In the café – as in Jefferson’s Café at the beginning of the article – Stevens meets his friend, the old mansion housekeeper, Mrs. Kenton. This is the first time the server finds himself facing and communicating with others. The first attempt to break the loneliness that has surrounded his life for many years. He could command a whole army of servants, like an army general, but at that moment when his soul began to speak, he could no longer say anything. Loneliness left its effects on him, just as it happens when we go out for the first time and have a conversation with others, and we only find the normal questions that are like any meeting: when was the last time we met… a long time has passed… people have changed… the atmosphere is beautiful… and the questions and dialogues that should be asked remain buried, inside the soul, it cannot come out unless one party feels familiarity and trust. The pattern that I think exists for Hopkins in this and other works is love. In the film and the novel, there is no word for love at all, and on the surface, there does not seem to be a love story. But the entire film is a love poem that Hopkins embodies brilliantly, through the eye looks and the states of loss, astonishment and surprise that characterize Hopkins’ face. In this film, Hopkins, with the chemistry of his face (eyes/mouth), was speaking and creating another dialogue text apart from the observed dialogues. In the movie, he did not say the word “love” once, because loneliness and isolation killed him. When he said it, when his father died in the book, he said it without feeling. This expression reaches its climax at the end of the film, in the rain showers.
Loneliness may be temporary, either due to the loss of a loved one, or due to moving from one place to another, or it may be accompanied by multiple psychological, pathological, or social conditions, which soon would stop, and the individual begins to return to communication, familiarity, and sharing with others. However, there are cases in which loneliness may be a condition that accompanies a person throughout his life. He may live with others, sharing both good and bad moments with them, but his soul is like a secret, no one knows it, and he has no trust in others at all. At the beginning of the new millennium, a documentary was released entitled: Finding Vivian Maier. A young amateur who collects antiques and collectibles for sale acquires a huge collection of photographic films. This young man discovers the images in these films, which leads to discovering a photographer who took thousands of pictures in the streets, photographing everything that caught her attention, like actors leaving the concert hall, a miserable worker, men waiting, women carrying their children, children crying, children laughing, a construction worker covered in cement, everything that is on the street and that does not attract attention and cannot be surrounded by a general frame, was immortalized by this photographer with her personal camera, and she set a frame for what she wanted to show, the camera that has become a symbol of the nature of the streets and people. No one knew this photographer before, and no one had published her work before. The young collector discovers that the photographer has photographed herself in a huge number of pictures, in different situations and places. The issue is no longer about the nature and beauty of these photographs, but rather about who is behind them and the creator behind all this artistic creativity. The young man follows the photographer’s story which leads him to discover many people with whom the photographer lived as a nanny and housekeeper for wealthy families. They knew that this photographer had served them well, and they had great memories of the children who were now young adults. But none of those who lived with her knew exactly who the photographer was, and the mere fact that she was behind the works of art around which a large crowd of people were lined up to look at them was puzzling. She was mysterious, unknown, and alone. She had no trust in anyone at all, and even entering her private room or trying to penetrate her privacy would cause her pain that she could not bear. A human being who does not have the ability to communicate normally with others.
Vivian Maier
When she was doing her household duties, she was alone, and she remained alone all her life until she died. But she had that space of freedom to communicate and share her joys and sorrows with others through the camera. What does it mean to stand in front of a man in the street, point the camera at him to take a picture of him? People on the streets shared that feeling of familiarity and connection with her, trusted her, and allowed her to take pictures. That second where she was taking pictures of others, men, women, children, and animals, she was practicing human communication and dialogue with them. The camera is a tool for communication, address, familiarity, and openness. But her truest psychological state was when she took pictures of herself. In the moments when she was filming herself, she believed that she was not alone or isolated from others, that she was here in this fast-paced world, with existence and entity. However, she did not trust anyone, and even in the last days of her life, she did not have the strength to communicate with others and have a dialogue with them, in an attempt to penetrate the world of loneliness that surrounded her, until she left alone. The camera was her method of breaking her crazy loneliness, and it announced to the world her presence years after her passing.
I conclude this article by going back to Thomas Jefferson’s Café. Jefferson did not lack having friends and communicating with them. His life was filled with friends and enemies alike. It is no exaggeration to say that the most wonderful stories of friendship, revolution, enmity, and companionship brought together two enemy friends, Thomas Jefferson and John Adams. Evidence of this is the rare letters between the two enemies, which extended for more than fifty years. Friends and allies in the American Revolution, enemies in the post-independence era, comrades in the days of old age and death. When they left politics and settled at home, they continued to communicate in loyalty to their friendship, and because each of them was able to converse with the other truthfully and freely, until they passed in the same day. I remember a letter among hundreds of letters between them, in which John Adams says, addressing Thomas Jefferson: “Dear Sir… she had heard you say that you would like to go over life again, in this I could not agree, I had rather go forward and meet whatever is to come—I have met in this life, with great trials—I have had a Father, and lost him—I have had a Mother and lost her—I have had a Wife and lost her—I have had Children and lost them—I have had honorable and worthy Friends and lost them—and instead of suffering these griefs again I had rather go forward and meet my destiny.”
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